At Duty's End
by lordhellebore
Summary: ONE-SHOT: Admiral Norrington knows all about duty. But so does Captain Jack Sparrow - even if it means living when he would rather not.


**Disclaimer:** _Pirates of the Caribbean_ belongs to Disney. No money is being made.

**A/N:** Takes place after _The Curse of the Black Pearl_; DMC an AWE don't exist.

* * *

When she opens one wing of the large double door that leads to his room, he doesn't stir to see who has come. It's always her, her or Admiral Norrington when he is at home. The other servants know, of course, and – just as loyal to their master as herself – they would never breathe a word about it, but they're banned from here. This room is only theirs, his and the admiral's.

She closes the door behind her and slowly crosses the distance between them, the sound of her steps swallowed by thick carpet, just as rich and expensive and useless as the tapestries and the curtains at the large windows. It is near those windows that he is sitting, the afternoon sunlight that falls inside form the garden glittering in the various trinkets tangled in grey-streaked hair.

He looks better, she thinks, better than he has in years, and her heart grows heavy at the thought of the news she bears. It shouldn't have to end like this; it is not fair. But of course, that is a silly notion, for nothing that happened since the admiral brought him here has been fair; life isn't fair.

She still vividly remembers the day he arrived – never before and only a few times after did she see the admiral act so out of himself. Usually, he's calm and collected, always in control, but not that day nine years ago when he came home after a three-month absence at sea.

.-.-.-.

That evening, he returns not accompanied by one of his officers, as usual, and not through the main door, but through the servants' entrance, carrying someone.

She can't see much, just a thin body, limbs held together by bloodied bandages and splints, and a wild tangle of dark hair with strange objects in it every now and there. Only when he has been deposited on the admiral's own bed can she make out more, and what she sees makes her doubt that he will survive the week.

Asking if she should send for a doctor, she gets no answer, and only after several repetitions does the admiral acknowledge his housekeeper's presence, his face looking almost as feverish and drawn as the injured man's when he finally turns to look at her.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, as if in trance. "No, they would come and get him. They would hang him."

That is all she gets out of him, and considering the stranger's state, it doesn't make sense at first – but after another look at matted hair, gold teeth, and the shredded remains of eccentric clothes, she understands.

She has never been the one to ask unnecessary questions, and so she doesn't ask why the admiral brought home a wounded pirate. Instead, she leaves for town, for although her employer might not know or want to believe it, not all of Port Royal's inhabitants are righteous people on the side of the law. An hour later, she is back with an old physician who spent more years on a pirate ship than ashore. He looks like a scarecrow, with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, but he is the best they have got; they can't afford to be picky.

"Won't survive," is his judgement after only one look at his patient, who right now has started coughing up blood. A second later, there is a metallic sound, and then a sword at his throat.

"Make him!" the admiral yells, features distorted in fury – or maybe it is despair. "Make him survive, or I swear to God, you will regret it!"

Survive he does, but nothing more, and when the admiral has to leave again after a month, he still is no more than a breathing skeleton, unconscious most of the time. It falls to her to tend to him, and just like the admiral did, she spends hours at his side, wondering what could have happened to cause Captain Jack Sparrow to end up like this.

Like everyone, she has heard countless stories about him, half of them so incredible that they can't be anything but the result of sailors yarning after too much rum to impress pretty women in harbour taverns. It is bizarre to see that he is just as human, just as vulnerable as her – he never seemed to be in the stories that make him into a hero or a villain, smiling, crazy, and always with a few more tricks up his sleeve.

Now it appears that his tricks and luck have abandoned him for good, for even when half a year has gone by, he hasn't recovered enough to leave his bed, and it looks as though he never will. More time passes, months go by without change. Captain Jack eats little and sleeps much, and when he is awake, he is in no mood to talk to her. He might as well be dead, because, as she thinks, no man would want to live like this, and how much less a man like Captain Jack Sparrow.

It is thirteen months after his arrival that she learns just how right that assessment was. The first thing she does in the morning after getting up is to look after him, but this time, when she opens the door to his room, the admiral is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back turned towards her. His ship, the _Wyvern_, must have made port late at night, and he usually does not bother his servants when he comes home at such an hour.

She wants to close the door and leave again – now that he is here, her only duties are to bring them food and drink – when the admiral's voice makes her freeze in the doorway.

"I can't, Jack! God help me, I can't let you go." He sounds pained and guilty, his voice just like Captain Jack's raspy whisper. "You can't ask that of me!"

There is an answer, an even lower murmur, but he shakes his head. "No! Can't you see that I need you with me?"

Another incomprehensible answer, and his shoulders slump as if in defeat.

"Do you think I do not know that? I know that I'm being selfish! But I can't! I need you here; I need to know you'll be there when I return. I need to know there will be at least _some_ nights that I don't wake up alone after..." He falls silent, his breathing heavy, and she knows that she should leave – only she can't move.

Captain Jack sounds almost amused when he answers – this time, she can understand what he says – and only later does it dawn on her that this might be his way of coping with the situation. At the moment, it seems inexplicable to her.

"All right, Jamie, all right. We have an accord. No deserting my commanding officer under any circumstances, savvy?"

"It's not funny!" the admiral snaps, and she winces at the intensity of his words. "Have you understood nothing? Are you that daft? Or does it feed your pride to hear me say how much I need you?"

His fist is clenched into the blanket, and now, slowly, she can see Captain Jack's hand slide over it, bony fingers with skin like paper where it is not scarred. He whispers something, and, even more slowly, the fist unclenches as the admiral calms down.

"I'm sorry, Jack." Now, he only sounds tired.

"Sleep, Jamie. I promise I'll still be there when you wake up. Couldn't make off all on my onesies anyway."

The admiral complies and kicks off his shoes, lying down carefully next to the other man.

"Please, do not ask me again. Please, Jack."

"I won't."

"And no tricks, no waiting for the 'opportune moment', no trying to talk Helen into helping you while I'm gone."

"No tricks, no opportune moment, no Helen," Captain Jack agrees. "I very much doubt it would make any sense trying, with her standing in the doorway right now and listening."

She startles at his words, even more ashamed when the admiral turns to stare at her. He looks as though he would like to become angry, but then there is Captain Jack's hand on his arm, and he sighs and lies back.

"Leave. And not a word about it to anyone," he demands, and she gladly obeys.

That evening, when most of the other servants have gone to bed already, she is sitting in the kitchen and sewing. She is still pondering the events of the morning, and so she doesn't notice the admiral when he enters.

"Helen," he says, and she flinches and pricks her finger. He did not speak a word to her as she waited on them during the day.

Now he sits down opposite of her, putting the glass and the half-empty bottle of wine he brought with him on the table. He is wearing no wig and no uniform, just trousers and a shirt, and while she has seen him like this before, it's never been outside his and Captain Jack's room.

"Do you think me selfish?" he asks, his voice soft and just a little slurred. She brought him more than one bottle of wine this evening.

She does not know what to reply – he never talks about personal matters with his servants.

"It's not my place to say."

"There is nobody else I could ask, but you need not answer. I have never been as selfish in my entire life as I'm being now."

She lays her needlework aside; it is no use trying to go on, for she can't concentrate on it any more.

"Sir --"

"No!" he interrupts, and she realises that he has not come to have a conversation. He is here because he needs someone to listen.

"Do you know what Mr. Turner said when he tried to rescue Jack from the noose?"

Everyone knows that story, but she doesn't know what was spoken.

"He said that Jack was a good man." The admiral smiles, but somehow, he looks more unhappy than when he didn't. "I did not agree, of course. He was a pirate! It took me seven years to realise how wrong I was."

She frowns, counting the years in her mind. "It happened while you were missing at sea?"

He nods, then drinks again and refills the glass, his face now hidden in shadows outside the light of the flickering candles.

Nobody knows what really happened during the time that he was gone. The _Dauntless_ had been taken in battle by several pirate ships, the crew killed or otherwise gone missing. It was almost two years later that Commodore Norrington returned to Port Royal aboard a merchant sailor. He had been believed dead by everyone, but quickly given back his command and property at his return. After all, he was one of the most capable naval officers in the Caribbean.

"I had received a blow on the head that left me unconscious, and then been taken prisoner by a pirate captain. When I awoke, I could not remember who I was. The pirates found it...exceedingly amusing, to say the least."

The glass is lifted and emptied in one gulp, then it slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor, but he does not seem to notice.

"I spent the next year on that ship. It was...they would..." He hesitates, then takes a deep, shaky breath. "It is better to not talk about it. One day, we got into a fight with another pirate ship and were defeated. It was Jack's ship, the _Black Pearl_."

She realises what is to come now, and while she wonders what exactly made him do it, she can perfectly imagine Captain Jack helping the admiral. He _is_ a good man.

"He saved me." Staring down at his hands, he looks strangely helpless, as though he could still not fully understand it. "I would have killed him without a second thought; I had almost done it before. He should have killed me, or marooned me on an island with the rest of the crew. Instead, he took me aboard the _Pearl_ and helped me recover. It was sheer luck that I finally _did_ remember, but without him..."

He shakes his head. "Suddenly, it was not so hard to see more in him than just a pirate. And one good deed suddenly _was_ enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness. It was so easy to become his friend."

She can't help but smile. "And easy to love him."

A moment later, she wishes that she had not said it, but he only nods absently.

"When I asked him why he did it, he said he could not have looked the Turners in the eyes at their next meeting if he hadn't. He always needed a false pretence when the good man in the pirate shone through. I think..." He takes the almost empty bottle and pulls it close, staring into the red wine that shimmers in the candlelight. "I think he might be a better man than I can ever hope to become. I can't lose him."

She would like to say something, but she finds no comforting words, and when he looks up after some minutes of silence, she knows that it is time for her to go to bed and leave him alone with his thoughts.

After that day, Captain Jack's condition surprisingly improves. He eats better, he is breathing easier, and even grows strong enough to leave bed on good days and sit in one of the armchairs near the windows. He even regains some of his old cheerfulness and starts speaking with Helen, more than a simple yes or no, or short answers to questions about what he needs. It is as though he had made a decision, as though he had accepted what happened. Maybe he needed to do it to be able to go on.

One day, out of curiosity, she asks him about the stories she has heard. He grins, gold teeth flashing.

"All true, luv," he assures, and from then on, he entertains her with his own versions of his adventures, which are even more colourful and insane than the ones she has heard. Among them is the tale about how he and the admiral got to know each other – a fantastical story about undead pirates, cursed gold, and the quest to regain his ship.

She loves listening, and he seems to like it as well, for when he talks about peril, treasure, and his _Pearl_, his eyes are shining and he smiles often, and she means to see a hint of the man he used to be, the man the admiral learnt to love.

When the admiral is not at sea and has no social obligations, the two of them will sit together in the evening, talking, and sometimes drinking, although it is mostly the admiral who empties some glasses of wine, since Captain Jack can hardly tolerate his beloved rum any more.

Sometimes, when they are talking of old times and the admiral has drunk more than usual, he will sing for Captain Jack, whose attempts at singing only serve to leave him in a coughing fit. It alienated her at first, because it's all less than decent shanties, pirate songs Captain Jack must have taught him.

It is at one such evening that she returns with another bottle of wine from the cellar, and even from outside the room can she hear the admiral's voice:

_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves.  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!  
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs!  
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!_

_Yo Ho, Yo Ho! A pirate's life for me._

It sounds bizarre from his lips, but she has long understood that there are but few things he would not do for Captain Jack.

"...always be grateful to Lizzie for teaching it to me," she hears Captain Jack's amused voice when she enters. "I bet she would never have imagined you to sing it one day."

"Are you sure you do not want me to tell them?" the admiral asks. "They would come to visit, spend time with you. Especially Elizabeth. They still are your friends, and I know they were stricken when they heard the rumours of your death."

"No! No telling them!" Within seconds, Captain Jack's mood seems to have turned from cheerful to dead serious. "No Will, no Elizabeth! I don't want them to know!"

His voice is stronger than usual, and she feels worried, for she has never seen him so upset.

"But Jack --"

"No! They knew a pirate, a man! I don't want them to see this! I don't want them to pity me!"

The admiral gets up and stands next to the other man's chair, his hand on Captain Jack's shoulder.

"They wouldn't."

But all he gets is a shake of the head. "Only you, James. Only you. Promise you won't tell them. Promise it! Please..."

"Damn it, Jack, stop begging me! You don't beg; you're Captain Jack Sparrow!"

She hears a weak chuckle - or maybe it's sobs, she can't tell for sure - and then he is silenced by the admiral leaning forward an kissing him. Quietly, she puts the bottle on the table and leaves them.

Years pass, the admiral is in his late fifties now, and slowly, he begins talking of retirement. The pirate threat in the Caribbean has grown significantly smaller, and there are other capable men in the Royal Navy. Soon, he says, in a year or two, they will be able to do without him.

They have plans for what will happen then – Captain Jack likes talking about it with her. The admiral will sell his property here, and they will move to some sparsely inhabited island. A little house near the beach, a few servants, and a ship small enough for the admiral to operate it alone. There has to be a ship, of course, and she suspects that if Captain Jack's condition allows it, they will hardly be home.

The prospects are good concerning this, for since they first made these plans, his stagnating health has been improving again. He grows stronger and can get up more often, and he is now quite as thin any more.

Noticing it, she can't help but feel cross with the admiral. If he had considered leaving the service earlier, he might have spared the man he loved some years of being confined to bed, to a room, to the shore. Should not that have been the most important thing to him?

Of course, she wouldn't dare to tell him that, but one day, she mentions it to Captain Jack. He is of a different opinion, however, for he only smiles and shakes his head.

"Wouldn't be me Jamie then, all stuffy and worried about honour and duty."

He makes it sound like a joke, but he can't fool her. He must know duty, too, and maybe much better than the admiral, or else he would not be here, when he could long be sailing the unknown seas of the next world.

.-.-.-.

Back in the present again, she sighs and forces her mind away from these thoughts. Nothing of it matters any more.

"Captain Jack, are you awake?"

He opens his eyes, smiling at her, and somehow, she manages to force a smile as well. She wants him in bed for this, for she can't know how he will react.

"It's time for you to rest. Let's get you to bed."

He lets her take away the blanket wrapped around him and help him up, and then she is half leading, half carrying him, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Although he is better, he is still shaking when they arrive – after a distance others would cross in a few seconds. Slowly, she makes him sit, and only when he is lying does she let go.

"We'll need to practice more," he says. "Can't be long any more - it's been six months already."

It is time now, but she does not know how to start. She should not have to do this.

"The _Wyvern_ is back," she finally says. "She made port at noon. They were successful."

She wants to say more, but the brilliance of his smile makes her stomach clench.

"He's back! And from now on, someone else can worry about the Empire. Jamie's done with it!"

"Captain Jack --"

"No more service, no more duty, and --" once again the flashing of gold teeth as he smiles "-- no more stuffy uniform. Now, me lass, this occasion calls for rum. Just a glass, and no need to tell Jamie."

"Captain Jack," she tries again, her voice shaking by now as she is close to tears. "Please, listen."

He falls silent, then, looking at her, and it is almost physically painful to see the understanding in his eyes.

"He won't come." It is not a question.

"It...it was in the last battle. They won it, and quickly, but...he was hit by a bullet near the end. They only noticed when it was too late."

He closes his eyes, and for a while, he stays silent, unmoving. If it were not for the imperceptible rising and falling of his chest, she could have sworn he had died as well. But finally, there is a stronger intake of breath, a gulp not unlike a sob.

"Leave."

She would like to stay with him, and he can't force her to go, but it would be cruel, and so she obeys. For one hour, she busies herself in the kitchen before she returns.

He must have dozed off, for he starts when she addresses him, but then his hand moves, searching for hers, and she quickly closes her fingers around his trembling ones.

"Do me a favour," he whispers, his voice shadowed where it used to be light and amusing before. "I kept me promise; I didn't leave him behind. But now...now he left me behind. Help me, Helen. Help me catch up with him."

She wants to tell him no, she can't do it, but she knows that she will obey. She has suspected this from the moment when she heard that the admiral fell in battle, and she can't blame him. It is a cruel joke of fate that he should lose the admiral on his last voyage before their new life was supposed to begin.

"Helen?" he urges when she fails to answer. He looks older and much frailer than he did only an hour ago.

She pulls herself together, nodding.

"Don't worry, Captain Jack," she says. "Don't worry. I'll do it."

He promised to not leave the admiral alone, and he didn't. But now that he is not needed any more, now that he is at his duty's end, there is nothing that keeps him here.

"Tonight?" He sounds eager, almost pleading, and she doesn't like it. He should not have to beg for anything. After all, he is Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Yes, tonight."

She feels the tension drain from his muscles, feels how his hand goes limp in hers, and for a little while, she sits and holds it in silence. In the end, she lays it back on the sheets and leaves for town. There are things to be done, and they don't allow for delay.

In the evening, she is sitting at his bedside, a glass in her hand, the other arm around his shoulders. He has thanked her for everything she did, and now there is nothing left to say between them, nothing to put it off any more.

She puts the glass to his lips, and he swallows the clear liquid, then closes his eyes. No more than a minute goes by before he starts convulsing in her arms, and even less before he falls still. She can't bring herself to move for a long time, but finally, she lets go of him and goes to get needle and thread.

In the dark just before morning, she leaves the house together with two servants. Unseen by any, they arrive in the port and go aboard the fisher boat waiting for them. The little crew does not know anything except that they are carrying someone who wished to be buried at sea.

After they have been sailing for an hour, the body is brought from below, sewed into a linen sheet. It doesn't feel right to make many words, so she watches in silence how the men haul it overboard. It is over quickly, and she feels glad that beside her and the other servants, nobody will know how Captain Jack Sparrow truly died. Nine years after he vanished, his life and death are becoming legend already, as it should be.

All the way back, she stands at the rail, her cheeks salty from tears and the spray carried by the wind as she stares at the sea that is glittering in the first light of dawn. She, too, is at her duty's end.


End file.
